


A Pool in a Peaceful Place

by Tam_Cranver



Category: Practical Magic (1998)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tam_Cranver/pseuds/Tam_Cranver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jet Owens dreams of bigger things, but over the years, life gets in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pool in a Peaceful Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babykid528](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/gifts).



> Much of my research here comes from Wikipedia, except for the information on magic provided by the aptly named spellsandmagic.com--I apologize for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> I wasn't sure just how old everyone in the movie was supposed to be relative to everyone else, so I gave the characters the actors' birthdays and hoped for the best.
> 
> The title comes from "The Sea Wind" by Sara Teasdale.
> 
> There is a brief mention of suicide, and one of the plot lines involves caring for a relative with dementia. If there is anything else in the story you feel needs a content note, or if you find something offensive, please don't hesitate to contact me about it.

_October 17, 1963_

"Reggie's in love again."

Jet looked up from the jar of rose hips whose oil she was straining. Frances was leaning on her elbows on the work bench, looking more disgruntled than Jet thought the news really warranted.

"Reggie's in love all the time," she answered. She sniffed the oil. Either she was coming down with a cold, or the rose hips hadn't been steeping long enough, because the essence didn't have much of a smell. "Sniff this, will you?" she asked Frances.

Frances sniffed absently. "Nice, but a bit weak. And I _know_ Reggie's in love all the time, but I think this one's serious."

"Why's that?"

"Just ran into her in the garden, and she said she wanted to have Jack over for dinner."

That brought Jet up short. Regina was the social butterfly of the family, the one all the boys had loved in high school even if none of them had had the guts to do it openly, but as long as Jet could remember--and she had a pretty good memory, she could remember the first time Reggie had snuck out in the middle of the night to meet a boy, and Jet had only been six at the time--she'd never brought a boy home. The only men Jet had ever seen in their house were Mother's men, who tended to leave in the morning before breakfast, or those who came seeking spells, who left even earlier than that. "Really?" was all she could think to say.

"Really. And I guess he wanted to come, too, or anyway that's what Reggie says. How much will you bet me that Mother runs him off?"

"No bet, Fan. That's not very nice." Privately, though, Jet had to wonder. Mother wasn't very tolerant of what she called Reggie's "romantic horseshit." 

"Would it be nicer to let him die of the curse?" Frances raised a challenging eyebrow at Jet. "Maybe it would be for his own good."

 _Or maybe you're jealous,_ Jet thought but didn't say. Jack Stevens was the closest Maria's Island had to a star. He'd been easily the best player of the high school basketball team about ten years back, the only reason that Maria's Island had, just that once, made it to the semi-finalist championship round his senior year. Jet had only been four or five, but she still remembered the happy excitement in the town as their team moved forward in the rounds, and the way people on the street had called Jack 'son,' glowing around him like he was their talisman. He still had that, though he'd long since graduated and had been working at the service station for years now. He was handsome, too. Jet wasn't particularly boy-crazy, but you'd would've had to be blind not to notice Jack Stevens. 

And now he was Reggie's, and poor Frances, who wanted so badly to love someone, couldn't find anyone she could stand who didn't treat her like she had the plague. It was a hard thing sometimes, to be an Owens.

"No such thing as the curse," Jet said, as she always did when Frances went on about it. 

Fan made a rude noise. "I've never met a witch who was so goddamned skeptical."

"I prefer to think of it as _logical_." She replaced the weak jar of rose essence on the shelf and pulled out another one, older and more fragrant. 

"Too logical," said Fan. "You're the _baby_. Know what that means? You've got no business being so logical. Especially in this house!"

"Somebody has to be," Jet retorted, and Frances grabbed the end of Jet's braid and tugged it. "Ouch! Fanny, you're going to make me spill!" 

Frances made a flicking motion with her finger, setting the dangerously tipping jar aright. "Serves you right. What're you making, anyway? Mother got you making another love potion?"

For all that she was the youngest, Jet was the best at potions. Probably, Jet thought, because she was the only one who didn't fly off the handle every other second. Potions were like chemistry in school; you had to measure carefully and pay attention, and channel whatever you were feeling into steady hands and clear eyes. It was a point of pride for Jet, how good she was at them. It was a long shot, but maybe, if she got good enough grades, she could go off to college and do chemistry there. Get out of this town, get out of this house. But to do that, she had to know more than love potions and charms for finding lost things.

"No," she answered Fan. "I'm making soap. Like Mrs. Wilson taught us in home ec."

The look on Fan's face could have curdled milk. And had. "Home _ec_?" 

Jet shrugged. Frances had nothing good to say about what she called "How to be a housewife 101," but then, she didn't have much good to say about any other class, either, and Jet thought there was a lot to be said about taking some of the techniques in home economics and applying them to the Owens family business. After all, you only had to read a fairy tale to see how magic could play a role in even little tasks.

Fan scoffed but said, "Well. At least you'll smell nice, I guess."

"Which is more than I can say for you." They didn't usually keep lye around, but it wasn't hard to find from the usual sources for spell ingredients, and Jet carefully measured some out into her best potions bowl. "Fan, I'm going to add the water now--there'll be fumes when it hits the lye, just so you know."

"I'm off then," said Fan. "But don't be surprised if Reggie shows up later and asks you to help her cook for her _boyfriend_ , Miss Home Economics 1963."

Fan had had the right idea--Regina came to Jet's room that night and asked if Jet wanted to help with dinner that Friday evening. Jet didn't mind, but she couldn't help but wonder what Mother thought of all this. The subject hadn't even come up at dinner, which could mean any one of a number of things, most of them bad. 

"Oh, I can handle Mother," said Reggie blithely. "Don't you worry about that." Whatever Regina said, Jet couldn't help but worry. Mother wasn't really the sort to be handled.

Friday evening rolled around, and Jack Stevens showed up on their doorstep, wearing a pressed shirt and a neck tie and with neatly combed hair, twenty minutes early. He tripped as he stepped over the threshold. Frances raised her eyebrows, meeting Jet's eyes, and Jet's heart sank. A bad omen. 

At first, it seemed like things might turn out all right. Mother greeted Jack politely. Reggie and Jet had made a meat loaf with mashed potatoes and green beans, and all the food turned out perfectly. They'd dusted off the rarely-used dining room table and set it with Grandmother's china and silver and some fine white candles--not the magical sort, just some nice-looking candles Reggie had been saving. It all made the dining room look as elegant as Jet had ever seen it, and Jet could see the impressed look in Jack's eyes when he saw the tableau they'd created. Most of all, Reggie seemed happy, happier than Jet had ever seen her. She'd seen Reggie with boys before, kissing and smiling at each other and staring into each other's eyes, but she'd never seen Reggie like this. She and Jack seemed like they'd known each other for years, finishing each other's sentences and giving each other warm, knowing looks as if they were exchanging intimate jokes with their eyes. Jet wondered if she'd ever be like that with someone. She wasn't really sure she wanted to; they almost seemed like two person-halves acting in conjunction, like they'd be incomplete if they were separated, and Jet didn't like the idea of needing another person like that.

Jack tried to make conversation about current events, but Mother hadn't read a newspaper in years and really had no interest in anything outside of Maria's island, and Frances didn't seem to be in the mood to talk. Jet tried her best, but she didn't really follow politics, and she was pretty sure nobody wanted the baby sister's take on things anyway. When Jack's attempt to switch over to his job over at the service station wound down, Mother wiped her mouth carefully and said, "You've lived here all your life, Jack, so there's no point in my asking if you know the rumors about the Owens women."

Reggie glared at Mother. Jack put his napkin in his lap and said, "No, ma'am, but I don't really listen to gossip. I mean, I've heard some things--but most of it was nonsense."

"What kind of nonsense?" asked Mother coolly.

" _Mother!_ " Reggie snapped, but Mother's glance was hard.

"I'd like to know just what your young man's heard about us. Now if you don't mind, Regina, I asked him a question and I'd like an answer."

"Well. Uh." Jack looked nervously between Mother and Reggie. "Growing up, the kids said you ladies were, um. Witches. You know, magic spells and that kind of thing. But like I said," he added hurriedly, " it was all a bunch of nonsense." 

"Was it?" Mother drew her finger around in a circular motion, and the serving spoon in the mashed potatoes began to stir. Jack's eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped. Reggie looked spitting mad, and Jet just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. "What else did you hear, Jack?"

Jack had a hard time tearing his eyes from the mashed potatoes and the still-moving spoon. "Um. I heard there was a curse, on the men you married."

"Oh, not just the ones we marry." Mother's face was like a statue, beautiful and cold and hard. "Though I don't doubt that much of what you heard was nonsense, it's true that the women of this family have a certain gift." One of the white taper candles had gone out during the awkward attempts at small talk, and Mother blew it back on. Jack's sharp inhale of breath echoed in the empty spaces of the dining room. "But we pay a price for that gift. Sometimes, the men close to us pay it. I don't suppose Regina told you any of this."

"She--" Jack looked over Reggie's way, his face still in a frightened, dazed mask, but as they looked at each other, the fear leeched out of his expression and the anger out of hers. "No. She didn't. But nobody had to tell me she was special. I already knew that."

"Jack." Reggie reached to take his hand. "I don't believe in any curse you and I can't beat."

"Well, I'll take your word for it," said Jack, sounding like he'd forgotten the rest of them were even in the room. 

Mother settled back in her chair, her arms crossed against her chest and her statue-cold expression melting into something that looked almost sad.

After dinner, when Reggie and Jack went out onto the porch and Frances and Jet were clearing the table, Mother just sat in her chair for a while, staring at nothing, before standing up with the slow, stiff movements of an old lady. 

"Mother?" asked Jet. "Would you like a cup of tea? Or maybe--" She was a bit more hesitant in offering alcohol, since it tended to make Mother's mood even worse, but sometimes it could knock her out of these quiet places she went. "Maybe some brandy?"

"No, thank you, Bridget," said Mother. "I'll be in my room."

She swept up the stairs, as majestic as ever but much more slowly than usual. 

"So," said Frances. "How long do you think before she and Reggie get into a screaming match?"

Normally, Jet tried to be the optimistic one, but she honestly couldn't see Reggie letting Mother's revelation go, and if Mother was serious enough about chasing Jack away that she'd openly talked about the Owens gift in front of him, she wouldn't be likely to let that go, either. "Probably as soon as Jack leaves."

"Mm-hmm. You know, Mother might at least have made sure Jack wouldn't tell anyone else. If I have to hear that stupid 'You're a witch!' chant when I go to the grocery store, I swear I'll give every teenager in this town acne."

"Well, leave me out of it!"

"I didn't mean _you_ , Jetty," said Fan, rolling her eyes. "You scarcely count as a teenager, anyway."

Jet wondered if that meant she seemed older or younger than she actually was. Maybe it just meant that she was strange. She didn't need Fan to tell her that, though.

Her prediction proved correct, and about half an hour later, Reggie came storming back into the house. "Where is she?" she demanded.

"Her room," said Fan. "Try not to break anything."

Because noise traveled in the old house, Fan and Jet could hear most of the argument, and they huddled together on the settee in the parlor, where you could hear the noise from Mother's room the best, and listened to Mother and Reggie fight about whether Reggie was really in love, and whether Mother, who'd never gotten married or even held onto a man for more than three months, could really lecture Reggie about love, and whether Reggie could really stay with a man she didn't trust with the secret of her magic, and whether magic really had to be the be-all and the end-all of Reggie's life the way it obviously was for Mother.

"Mother's a hateful old biddy," said Fan in a low voice, "but she might be right. You think you could really live without ever using magic or telling the man you love about it?"

"Jack didn't seem to take it so bad," said Jet, ignoring the rest of the question. She didn't know, really, whether she could just stop using magic like that. Was there really a reason to, if she could tell whoever she fell in love with about it and he didn't mind? Assuming, of course, that she ever fell in love.

Fan made a scornful noise. "He was scared out of his mind. Sooner or later he's going to wake up from his and Reggie's lovesickness, and he'll run like the wind."

"Don't say that," said Jet. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous?" Fan scoffed. "Over Jack Stevens? Don't be ridiculous." But she shut up after that, and they sat in silence as the argument wound down and Reggie stomped away to her room. 

Breakfast the next day was cold and quiet, with Mother and Reggie refusing to talk to each other. Fan just seemed maliciously amused by it all, and Jet wondered if she was the only mature one in the family. After breakfast, Reggie went off to the garden, and Fan, who had evidently decided to switch to Reggie's side, followed, leaving Jet to talk Mother out of her mood. 

"So, are you and Reggie still fighting, Mother?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

"We aren't _fighting_ , Bridget, don't be absurd. We simply happen to disagree, that's all."

"About what?"

Mother sighed. "When you're older, you'll understand."

Jet hated being told this. "Understand what?"

"What a great gift we've been given, and the responsibility that comes with it," said Mother crisply. "Your sister thinks she can simply marry her young man and love will conquer all. Heaven forbid that someone should explain to her that there are forces in this world more powerful than love."

"Like the curse?" said Jet.

" _Yes_ , like the curse, and don't say it like you're humoring me." Mother's voice was turning sharp. "That curse killed my father."

Jet's goal here was to calm Mother down, not bring up old wounds and make her even angrier, even if she did think the curse was a bunch of baloney, so she said, "I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean it like that. But Reggie's twenty-three. Surely it's normal for her to want to get married and have a family, isn't it?"

"One doesn't have to get married to have a family, as you ought well to know, Bridget Owens," said Mother, cocking an eyebrow in Jet's direction. 

"Well, not everybody wants to raise children all on their own," Jet pointed out. "Shouldn't Reggie get a say in it?"

"Oh, I have no doubt that Regina will do whatever she wants." Mother wasn't even looking at Jet now, but had turned her attention inward, frowning at something only she could see. "And she and Jack will both end up paying for it."

"Mother," said Jet carefully, "I know about what happened to Grandfather. But are you sure it was a curse? Couldn't it just be bad luck? I don't understand how Maria could possibly be strong enough to cast a spell back hundreds of years ago and have it still affect us, after all this time."

Mother pulled herself out of her reverie to look at Jet again. "It's not always about the strength of the spellcaster," she said, "but about the strength of the passion she puts into the spell, and you'd better believe that after everything that happened to Maria, she had a great deal of passion to put into it."

"But why do you think she would have done such a thing, not just to herself, but to all her daughters and granddaughters? It seems less like a curse on men and more like a curse on us--what would be the point?"

"The point?" Mother laughed harshly. "The _point_ , Bridget, was to remove temptation. It's not about the _men_ \--it's to keep us safe from everyone else."

Jet frowned. This was more explanation than Mother had given for a long time, but she wasn't sure she understood it. "Everyone else?"

"Bridget. Why did they try to hang Maria?"

There were a number of answers to that--the rumor that she'd been sleeping with a lot of married men, the fact that she was unmarried and pregnant, religious differences--but the main one seemed pretty clear. "She was a witch. Like us."

Mother waved this aside with a dismissive gesture. "Of course, but she was always a witch. Why hang her then? Because before then, she'd kept to herself. She was different from all those Massachusetts Puritans, and she knew it. But when she met _Him_ \--" Jet wondered what the man's name had actually been, because Mother only ever called him 'Him'--"she started to think she could be like them. Go from being the town pariah to being a little housewife like them, spinning and milking the cows and whatever the hell else they did back then. She started to think she could find a place among them."

"I guess she couldn't," said Jet, feeling a dreary cold in the pit of her stomach.

"No." Mother leaned forward, her eyes staring into Jet's. Jet made herself keep looking steadily at Mother without turning away. "Love is a temptation, Bridget. It's a temptation to think that we can be what we are and have the power we have and still be just like every other woman out there. Maria's curse is a hard gift, but it is a gift. We fall in love and we think the people will forget about those spells we cast for them and those potions we make, but they never will. They will never forget, Bridget, and they will never let Regina be one of them, no matter how conventional she thinks she can make herself. The curse helps us remember that."

"Well, that's just great," said Jet, losing her temper. "That'll convince Reggie--her boyfriend's got to die so that she can remember that we have to be alone forever."

That startled a laugh out of Mother. "Oh, Bridget." She actually left her seat and went over to place a kiss on Jet's forehead. "You never stop amazing me." She stood there like that for a long moment, with her arms around Jet and her chin resting on Jet's head. "She'll come around," she said, as if she were trying to convince herself rather than Jet. "Regina will come around."

But she didn't. Instead, two weeks later, Reggie and Jack eloped. 

**

October 30, 1963

Dear Jet,

I've enclosed a picture of me and Jack at the state courthouse, where we were married on Tuesday. I'm writing you as Mrs. Jack Stevens! Well, not really, of course, I didn't change my name, but I could call myself Mrs. Jack Stevens if I wanted to. I'm sorry you and Frances weren't there, but you know what an awful lot of fuss Mother would make about Jack and me getting married. It would be 'the curse' this and 'Owens family tradition' that, and we'd be old and gray before she so much as let us get engaged. Mother acts like love's a book she's already read, but from the way she talks about it, I don't think she understands love at all, or at least not the kind I'm feeling now. I know that love is more powerful than any curse, and Maria wouldn't have wanted her family to be unhappy at any rate, would she?

As soon as we have settled down, maybe you and Fan can come and visit us. You can show Fan this letter if you want, but don't let her tell Mother about it. 

All my love,  
Your sister,  
Reggie

"Dear Lord," said Fan when Jet showed her the letter. "I never thought she'd actually do it."

"Wait, she told you she was going to run away and marry Jack?" Jet asked, feeling hurt that she hadn't been in on the secret.

Fan shrugged. "Like I said, I didn't think she'd do it. What happens in a month when she gets sick of him?"

"Always such a cynic!"

If Reggie had thought not telling Mother about the letter would help, she was sadly mistaken. Jet had never seen Mother so sad, lost, almost, like she didn't understand what had happened or how. "She'll regret it," she said, standing in Reggie's room and shaking her head. "Family's the source of our strength. What if something happens to her? Oh, God, I could curse that Jack Stevens."

"Oh, don't do that, Mother," said Jet. "I don't think it'll help."

Later, Fan said, "If I ever have daughters, don't let me get to be like Mother. It's ridiculous. If she hadn't flipped out like that over Reggie inviting Jack over, they never would have run away."

Jet couldn't really imagine Frances as a mother, but she thought that she had a good point. Jet really didn't see that Reggie had done anything so bad or dangerous. If anything, she envied her. She hadn't realized how quiet things would be without Reggie. Reggie had always been a whirlwind, singing up a storm as she worked in the kitchen or the workroom, inventing games for Frances and Jet when they were younger, fighting with Mother and making up later to teach Fan and Jet the finer points of some potion or charm. Without her, the house seemed oddly too big, like some sort of empty, echoing cavern, and too small. Reggie was out there in the world, off in Boston or wherever, and Jet was stuck on Maria's Island with Mother and Frances. Though Jet had spent a lot of her life to date alone, she'd never felt so lonely before. 

The winter passed, slow and creeping like the progression of the ice over the eaves. Though Reggie wrote again to Fan and Jet, from North Carolina, where she and Jack had ended up, she always included a note at the end not to show the letter to Mother. There was the feel of magic about the letters, which made Jet think that maybe they'd disintegrate if she tried to show them to Mother. As far as she could tell, Mother and Reggie weren't communicating at all. 

"It'll blow over," said Frances when Jet, worried, talked to her about the rift between mother and Reggie. "Always does, doesn't it?"

It didn't, but the tension in the house eventually eased, and they got into the rhythm of life without Reggie around. It meant that Fan and Jet had to take on more of the work of making charms and love potions and stupid little curses for the townspeople, since they still needed money for groceries and new clothes and Reggie wasn't around to handle the customers Mother refused to deal with. Jet didn't mind so much. She liked the work, and it took her mind off her loneliness. 

She almost thought she'd gotten used to things as they were when something happened after chemistry class one day in March to disrupt her equilibrium.

"Excuse me. Jet?"

It took Jet a second to understand that someone was talking to her, since almost no one ever did. She blinked and looked up from her stack of books. It was Mary Ann Collins. 

Mary Ann Collins wasn't the most popular girl in school, but she was by far the prettiest, and one of the nicest. For all that she and Jet had never been friends, Mary Ann had never spread nasty rumors about her or played pranks on her or called her names, like so many of the other girls their age. She was quiet, shy, with a warm smile and a sprinkling of cinnamon-colored freckles on her nose and dark reddish-brown hair that fell in shining waves over her shoulders. Jet sometimes daydreamed that Mary Ann Collins would want to be her friend, but nothing had ever come of those dreams. Until now. "Mary Ann?"

Mary Ann smiled--not the bright one with all her teeth, the shy one, that just pulled at the corners of her lips. It was among her prettiest smiles. "You're really good at this chemistry stuff, aren't you?"

Jet shrugged, since she couldn't say yes without bragging or no without lying. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her toes. 

"It's not--I didn't look at your grades or anything, just, I saw you when we were doing the lab, and you really looked like you knew what you were doing." Her smile quirked ruefully. "Me, I'm not so good at all this science. Equations and chemicals and measurements and things make my head spin. I don't know how I'll do on this midterm." She sighed and said, "Look, if I fail it, my folks will have a cow. I wanted to know, do you want to study together sometime? You're the smart one, but I could bring cookies and things. It might be kind of fun."

Jet swallowed. She had never had a friend come over to her house. "Do you mean--you want to study at my house?"

"If that's okay," said Mary Ann. "My brothers will be at my house, and it's impossible to study when they're around, they're so loud."

"Sure!" Jet was sure her voice sounded squeakier than usual, and she swallowed again. This was so stupid. She was eighteen, not eight. This kind of thing was why Fan said she was immature. "When did you want to meet?"

Mary Ann's smile was turning into one of her bright ones, warm and friendly. Up close, Jet could see that her eyes weren't just green, as she had thought--there were little flecks of brown and grey in them. Like a kaleidoscope. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"I'll have to ask my mother but--I think tomorrow after school would be all right."

"Great!" Mary Ann hefted her book bag onto her shoulder and said, "I've got to go catch my bus, but I'll see you tomorrow?" 

Jet nodded. "Tomorrow."

As she'd expected, her mother frowned but told her that if she wanted to have one of her fool classmates over, she was welcome to. Jet spent forever the next morning in front of the mirror, braiding her hair and combing it out again, trying on almost all of her dresses in search of the one that would make the best impression, dabbing sweet-smelling oils from the workroom on her wrists and neck. Frances rolled her eyes but willingly offered her advice on outfits. It was difficult to pay attention in class, but Jet made herself listen to Mr. Smith in chemistry enough to write down what he said about the midterm, just in case Mary Ann asked about it. 

After the final bell rang, Jet waited for Mary Ann in front of the school. Five minutes after the bell, up she came, in a green flowered dress that suited her eyes and hair beautifully, with a smile that made Jet's mouth dry up. They walked over to Jet's house, not talking so much, but the silence was comfortable. Friendly, Jet thought. Because Mary Ann Collins was going to be her friend. 

"We can study in the workroom," she offered when they reached the house. "It's quiet there." 

"Okay," said Mary Ann. "Can I see the rest of your house first, though? It's so big."

It was among the bigger houses in Maria's Island, though it was also much older than most. Either way, Jet was a little excited at the thought of getting to show it off. "Sure," she said, and she gave Mary Ann a guided tour like Mr. Jones the ferryman gave the tourists in the summer. 

It ended in Jet's room, where Jet shyly talked about her book collection and her bed, which her grandmother had made. Grandmother Elizabeth's gifts had been with wood--not just wands and materials needed for spells, but also furniture and little carved toys that you could still find around the Owens house if you poked around for long. The best part of Jet's room, though, was the window seat, which gave a wonderful view of the garden and beyond that the water. 

Mary Ann sat on Jet's bed and smiled, looking around the room with wide eyes. "This is really pretty," she said. "I wish my room looked like this."

Something in Jet's stomach flipped over at the sight of Mary Ann sitting on her bed. It suddenly occurred to her that if she and Mary Ann became friends, they could have sleepovers, maybe--Jet had never had a sleepover. The bed was big enough for two, but they'd probably have to sleep pretty close together. Especially since the house got drafty at night. They could tell stories and play games and...whatever else girls did at sleepovers. But she was getting ahead of herself. "Oh, um, I'm sure your room is really nice, too. Maybe I can see it sometime." 

"Maybe," said Mary Ann with a nod. "Is it okay if I use the bathroom?"

"Sure." Jet pointed her back the way they had come, down the hall, and went down to the work room to get her books and papers together. She'd organized her notes by topic and sharpened all her pencils when it occurred to her that Mary Ann was taking an awfully long time in the bathroom. She went to the bottom of the stairs and called, "Mary Ann? Are you okay up there?"

Instead of Mary Ann, though, Mother's voice came sailing down the stairs. "Bridget, your friend is taking pictures in my bedroom. I don't care for it."

Taking pictures? Jet took the stairs two at a time, tripping at the top and just about knocking into Mary Ann, who had a Polaroid camera out, a handful of instant photographs, and a sheepish expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" asked Jet, utterly baffled.

Mary Ann shifted from foot to foot and stuffed the pictures into her open book bag. "Oh. Um, some of the girls--you know Sarah Jennings, right?--they wanted to know what the inside of your house looked like. If, you know, you had witchy things in here. Not that there are," she said hurriedly. "But they said they'd give me five dollars if I got pictures. Like a dare? You can have half if you want." 

Jet shook her head, still not sure what was going on. "So...you didn't need to study, then?"  


"Well, we can if you want," said Mary Ann with a shrug.

And then Jet understood. Mary Ann didn't want to be her friend. Mary Ann wanted five dollars. Jet felt cold inside. "No," she said, hoping her voice was steady. "That's okay."

"Okay," said Mary Ann. "I'll go, then. Sorry I took pictures of your mom's room--I didn't know she was there."

"Doesn't matter," said Jet. It didn't. Since there were already pictures of the rest of the house in all its old, creaky glory, what was one more photo?

"Okay," said Mary Ann again. She shot a nervous look at Mother's room again, and then darted down the stairs and out the door like she was afraid. Maybe she was. They were a family of witches, after all. 

Jet went down to the workroom, carefully put away all her books and notes, and then went upstairs to her room and sobbed into her pillow.

When Frances came home and Mother told her what had happened, she was livid. "Why do any of us even _try_ to be nice to these idiots?" she said, her sharp voice at odds with her hands, which were gentle on Jet's hair. "Mary Ann Collins was a mealy-mouthed, lily-livered little puke when I was in high school, and she's even worse now. I don't even understand why you'd want to be friends with her in the first place."

Jet let out another sob into her pillow, but she didn't answer. She couldn't answer. She hadn't wanted to be _friends_ with Mary Ann. Whatever it meant, whatever reason she felt that way, she hadn't. She'd wanted...it wasn't logical, she couldn't have had it, but she'd wanted, maybe not what Regina and Jack had, but something like it, or close to it. She'd wanted it so badly, she didn't understand now how she hadn't seen it. And it hurt, it hurt like somebody was stepping on her heart. 

Was this a way to escape the curse, or was it something even worse?

**

July 26, 1964  
Dear Frances and Jet,

You're aunts! I've enclosed a picture of your new niece, Sally Ann Owens, born 9:50 AM on the 17th, 7 pounds 4 ounces. Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? And she's an angel, too, hardly ever cries, just holding her in my arms makes me feel the most wonderful sense of peace. I hope you can feel that kind of happiness someday. You'll have to come and visit us soon. I want Sally to know her aunts!

All my love,  
Your sister,  
Regina 

Fan and Jet actually did drive down to North Carolina to see Regina and Jack and baby Sally, who was just as beautiful and sweet as Regina had said. Jet had never loved somebody so hard so instantly. When she held Sally, Sally quieted and stared at her with her dark eyes, as solemn and wise as some sort of little goddess, and Regina said, "Look, she likes her Auntie Jet!" _Auntie Jet_ , thought Jet, feeling warm all over. _That's me_. Frances didn't get gooey about it like Jet did, but she clearly loved little Sally as much as anybody.

The house was far too quiet after the noise and cheer of Jack and Regina's cozy home, so Fan and Jet put their savings together and bought a little television. They got a laugh out of Bewitched , and the noise helped fill the emptiness and the spaces increasingly left by Mother. Since Reggie had left, Mother didn't seem to be _there_ like she had before, spending a lot of time in her room, talking more about when she was a child than anything real or present. 

"I think it drives her nuts that Regina's happy," said Fan. "Her running away was one thing. But I'm pretty sure Mother thought she'd come running back. You know, people in North Carolina would want to burn the witch, and Jack would be a horse's ass, and Reggie would come back and apologize and devote herself to being the world's best witch or something. Or maybe the curse would kill Jack. But Reggie's doing great for herself with her normal life, which means Mother was wrong, and you know how she hates that."

Maybe that was part of it, thought Jet. But she didn't think that was all of it. Mother seemed to be getting forgetful, too, and Jet felt like she had to repeat herself an awful lot about even simple little things like what they were making for dinner or where Frances was at any given time. Mother wasn't old enough to be going senile, was she? It was starting to worry Jet. 

So was Frances. She was acting strangely these days, distant. Not distant like Mother, who seemed to be living in 1935 half of the time, but she went out at all hours and didn't tell Jet where she was going, and she went into the workshop to make potions at night--Jet could hear her moving around, though she didn't know what on earth Frances could be making down there. If it had been Regina, Jet would have thought she was sneaking out to see a boy, but it was _Frances_. She was pretty sure there wasn't a man in a twenty-mile radius that Frances would even give the time of day.

One night in October, Jet woke up to the sound of screaming coming from Mother's room. Thinking that maybe there was an intruder, she grabbed the baseball bat she kept under the bed and ran down the hall.

"Mother, what is it?" she asked, and then ducked as Mother chucked a pillow at her head.

"Get out of my house!" she shrieked.

"What?" Jet looked around, trying to see if anyone else was in the room. Maybe it was a spirit; God knew that previous generations of Owenses had a tendency to hang around the house, and Mother was more sensitive to them than most. "Mother, what is it?"

"Out!" Mother threw another pillow. "Get out! Sneaking into my house, stealing my things--"

It occurred to Jet that maybe Mother was saying all this to _her_. "Mother? I'm not stealing things. It's me, Jet." After a moment in which it looked like Mother was readying herself to scream again, Jet added, "Your daughter."

Mother paused, breathing heavily. "Bridget?"

Relieved, Jet set the baseball bat down and said, "Yes! It's me, Bridget!"

"Oh." Mother shook her head as if clearing it of a dream. "I don't--I don't know what came over me. I thought you were...a burglar, maybe. Ridiculous. Oh. Oh...." She put a hand to her chest, and Jet could see that her breaths were coming faster and faster.

"Shh, shh," she said. "I'll go get you some tea. It'll help you sleep."

She was halfway outside the room when Mother said, "Where's your sister?"

For a horrible moment, Jet thought she was asking for Reggie, and that Jet would have to explain the business with Jack all over again. Hesitantly, hopefully, she asked, "You mean Frances?"

"Yes," said Mother shortly, "of course I mean Frances. I have no idea where that girl goes these days."

Neither did Jet, actually. Where was Frances? The noise from Mother's room ought to have brought her running, too. Jet went to go knock on her door, irritated. "Fan?" she said. "Come on! There's no way you slept through all that." There was no answer but the constant creak of the floorboards, echoes of Jet's own trip down the hall. 

Jet pushed open the door, looking around. The waxing moon shone over Frances's empty bed. Jet sucked in a breath of air, a momentary paroxysm of fear gripping her. Nothing bad had happened, she told herself. Frances had been acting oddly lately--she was probably just sneaking out like Regina had done in high school. Nobody would want to kidnap her or anything. On the heels of the fear came anger--Jet could understand her sister's not telling Mother about whatever it was she was doing at night, but how could she not tell Jet?

She looked around again, this time looking not for Frances but for any hint of where she might be. There was no note on the desk. On the nightstand, though, stood one of the blue, homemade candles from the workroom, unlit. Fan was doing magic up here, but what kind? Jet walked over, carefully taking in the scene and taking care not to disturb anything. The candle smelled faintly of lavender.

What was Frances after? Sleep? If she was out doing God knows what all night, thought Jet with a fit of pique, she probably didn't need a candle to get to sleep. Did she want a particular kind of dream? Or maybe..."Truth spell?" she said out loud. 

"Lover's truth. Just waiting for the full moon to do it."

Jet jerked away from the candle in surprise and turned to see Frances standing in the door. "Frances!" she said, holding a hand over her rapidly beating heart. "You scared me."

"I don't know how to tell you this," said Frances wryly, "but you're in my room. Stay in your own if you don't want to be scared."

"I would have," Jet said, remembering her anger, "but Mother wanted to know where you were. Something's wrong with her, Fan. She had nightmares tonight, and when I went to wake her, she didn't even know who I was. Where the hell where you?"

Frances blinked in surprise. "Did she think you were whoever she was dreaming about?" she asked, ignoring the question. "Might just be the dreams--we could make her some chamomile tea, a little valerian maybe."

"Fine." Jet was too exasperated and tired to explain everything that had happened and why she didn't think bad dreams were the real problem. "Don't tell me. I'll just make something up for Mother."

She tried to shove her way past Frances out into the hall, but Frances reached out a hand and gripped her shoulder. "Wait, Jetty," she said with sigh. "I'm sorry. I just...after what happened with Regina and Jack, I just didn't want to tell Mother."

"Tell Mother what?" asked Jet, though she had a feeling she already knew.

Frances sighed again and pulled a rolled-up piece of parchment out of her pocket, handing it to Jet. "For the truth spell, once the moon's full. It's not that I don't trust him. I do. As crazy as it sounds, I really do. But we never talk about our feelings or anything like that. I'd hate to think I was getting this stupid over somebody who didn't feel the same."

Jet unrolled the parchment. In Frances's bold, tight handwriting was a name: _Ethan._

"Jet," said Frances, a strange, wobbly smile on her face, "I think I'm in love."

 

**

April 13, 1965

Dear Jet,

I'm so pleased that your ACTs went so well! I knew they would; you've always been the smart one in the family (but don't tell Frances I said that!). I really think you should consider what Mrs. Crane said about college. I know Mother wouldn't like it, but you can't plan your life around what she wants. There's a whole world out there, Jet, and you'll never see it if you're stuck on Maria's Island. If you needed help with tuition, I'm sure Jack and I could spare some. The business is doing really well here.

Speaking of Mother, I'm sorry to hear that Mother's drifting a bit in her mind. You probably don't remember this, you were very young at the time, but when we were kids, Great-Aunt Amelia lived with us, and she had the same problem. Mother and I used to make her an herb tea with basil, rosemary, and peppermint, and it seemed to help. You might want to try that.

Give my love to Frances.  
Your sister,  
Regina 

 

Jet had never really given much thought to the kind of man Frances would fall in love with, but if she had, she 'd have thought Frances would go for someone like herself--fiery, sharp-witted, always quick to speak, quick to anger, quick to forgive. 

You could have knocked her over with a feather when Frances finally got the nerve up to invite her fellow over, and Jet saw her sitting on the parlor settee with Ethan Tanner, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

Jet vaguely remembered Ethan Tanner, who was from Shelbyville, right across the water from Maria's Island, and whose parents ran the nearest drug store, but only very vaguely. He hadn't played on any of the sports teams, he hadn't been in the choir, and he hadn't gone on to do spectacular things in the world outside Maria's Island--as far as she knew, he was still helping his parents run the drug store. He wasn't very noticeable, small and kind of mousey-looking. He was quiet, and when he did speak, it was slow and difficult to hear. Next to Frances, he was like a shadow.

"You don't understand," said Frances when Jet commented to that effect. "The world's full of men who like to throw their weight around, always have to be the center of things. It's not like that with Ethan. He listens to what I say, you know? He doesn't think he knows better than me, especially about what I want."

"He seems to me like the kind of boy you would have called a 'lily-livered puke' in high school," Jet pointed out, equal parts amused and mystified. 

Frances rolled her eyes. "Come on, Jetty, I'm twenty-two years old. I'm not a teenager any more--life doesn't always have to be a fight."

"I've never thought life had to be a fight."

"Don't be stupid, Jet," said Fan. "You've never been a teenager."

This left Jet feeling obscurely offended. She never seemed to count as a teenager, but it wasn't as if anyone treated her like an adult, either. It was as if everyone else had some idea of what both a teenage girl and a woman were supposed to be, and she never met any of the requirements for either. She wondered what she was doing wrong.

But however Jet was or wasn't a proper teenager, Frances really did seem to have settled down. She was still sharp, but she seemed a lot less angry, and the way she was with Ethan...Jet had never seen her like that. Gentle, with the edges of her humor softened, and somehow expansive, protective, like she didn't want to hurt him and wasn't about to let anything or anyone else hurt him, either.

For her part, Jet began to actually like Ethan. Though he didn't talk much, he was a whiz at board games, and he didn't seem to mind playing with his girlfriend's little sister. He loved music, and sometimes Frances and Jet would go over to his room in the apartment above the drug store and listen to his record collection, and listen to him talk about his record collection. He didn't listen to the kind of music they played over the radio in the grocery store or the post office; it was "folk" this and "psychedelic" that, songs that went on for ten minutes or longer and consisted of some man with a banjo or groups playing mandolins and kazoos. It wasn't like anything Jet had ever heard before, and she liked to close her eyes and think of faraway places while she lay on Ethan's floor and he explained the songs they were listening to to her and Frances. When they explained to him that the rumors about the witchcraft were true, he shrugged.

"I know," he said. "But it seems like all you ever do is help people with it and try to make a living. Not a thing wrong with that."

Mother didn't put up a fuss, or at least not about Ethan, though she was increasingly putting up fusses about other things. The nightmares and the times she couldn't recognize Frances or Jet were becoming more common. Jet had always secretly thought that she was more mature than her mother sometimes, but that didn't mean that it wasn't terrifying to have to coax her mother to eat and go to sleep like a child. It wasn't all the time--she had good days and bad days--but Jet was starting to wonder if college was even going to be an option for her, money or no money. Mother might not be the obstacle that she had been for Regina and Frances, but now she was a different kind of obstacle--she couldn't be left alone for too long, and it wasn't fair to put all the work on Frances and Ethan, who were so happy now. Jet kept up her grades until graduation and got her diploma with Frances and Ethan clapping in the audience. She got good at mixing a mild belladonna potion to help her mother sleep, got even better at managing the household budget, and patiently waited to see what would happen with her sister and Ethan.

Though Frances was almost unrecognizably happy, she'd been hesitant to bring up marriage with Ethan. "I don't know if it's just the love that triggers the curse," she confided to Jet, "or whether maybe the ceremony of magic really seals the deal. I'm not risking Ethan's life over something as stupid as a damn wedding license."

"I thought you didn't believe in the curse anymore," Jet pointed out. "Jack and Regina are doing all right, aren't they?"

"Exception that proves the rule." Frances dismissed the point with a wave of her hand.

"Well. We could always try breaking the curse."

"I'm pretty sure it's been tried, Jetty," said Frances, but there was a speculative gleam in her eye. It came as no surprise that the next morning found her with a pile of old spell books open across the kitchen table, poring through the various curse-breaking methods.

"A lot of them want you to diminish the caster's power temporarily," she told Jet. "Old Maria's power's about as minimal as it's going to get--I can't make her any more dead."

It was too early in the morning for this kind of discussion. "Do you want some breakfast?"

Frances rolled her eyes. "Is that all you can think of at a time like this? Come on, Jet. Help me think!"

When Frances was set on something, she was like a dog with a bone. Jet sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Well. Whatever's powering the curse now--assuming that there is a curse, which I still think you're wrong about--it would have to be tied to the family. The house or something."

"What, you think the spirits of Owenses Past are keeping the curse going?" asked Frances skeptically.

"I don't know. It's definitely connected to the family line, right?" Jet shrugged. "We've been living on this land for about three hundred years. Hard to get more connected to the family line than that." Plus, Maria was buried at the edge of the garden, by the water, according to family legend. 

Together, she and Frances pieced together the strongest curse-breakers they could find, trying different combinations of steps to see which went well together and tossing out the ones that got useless or counterproductive. On the next waxing moon, they (and Ethan, who was taking the idea of the curse rather well and told them he'd do whatever they needed to get rid of it) went out into the garden and tried their new spell out. It felt good, thought Jet, though it was hard to tell whether it had really accomplished anything.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Frances. "I think it worked. It felt right."

"It sounded good to me," Ethan said. "Though I guess I'm not exactly an expert."

"I think it worked," Frances said again. "That's about the most powerful counter-curse I've ever tried. I think we'd know if we flubbed it up, because part of it would have bounced back on us." She laughed a little, breathless. "Up yours, Maria. If your old curse ever had any power, that should have done it in."

"Can't imagine any curse that could stand up against you two." Ethan looked curiously at the remains of the candles and the pouches of herbs and salt they'd burned in a circle around the spot where Maria was buried. "You're the best witches I know."

Frances gave him a wry look. "We're the only witches you know."

"There's Mother and Regina," Jet pointed out.

"Yeah," said Ethan, not even looking at Jet. "But you're better." He took Frances's hand. "If we don't have to worry about the curse anymore...does that mean we can get married?"

 

**

March 20, 1967

Dear Jet,

I hear that Frances is in love! From the way she talks in her letters, she's head over heels! Who'd have thunk it! You'll have to write me and tell me what she's like to live with, because I would pay good money to see Fan in love. I would never have guessed she'd fall for Ethan Tanner, or really anyone from anywhere near Maria's Island. I always saw her going for some exotic foreign type, but I guess that just goes to show what I know! I guess you must be next. Just think, in a few months, Frances and Ethan will be married, and they and you can come out to North Carolina with Jack and me. With Sally's little sister due in June, I'd really love to have you and Frances nearby.

All my love,  
Your sister,  
Regina

It was a nice daydream, Jet thought, all three sisters together in a place that wasn't Maria's Island, without Mother, but honestly, they couldn't leave Mother alone. Without Fan and Jet and Ethan around, Jet wasn't sure Mother would even eat, much less do things like go out to do the shopping or talk to customers. They'd have to take Mother with them. That wouldn't be easy--Jet didn't know how they'd be able to convince her to leave all that Owens family history behind--but seeing Reggie and her granddaughters would be compensation, and it would probably do Mother a lot of good to be around more people. Of course, Regina hadn't even mentioned Mother in her letter, but Regina had to be as sick of the feud as Jet and Frances were, and she'd understand why they had to bring Mother. 

As it turned out, they never had to explain it.

In the month of July, everything seemed to be happening. Regina's daughter Gillian was born a little late, the first week in July, and though Frances grumbled about Regina claiming all the attention, the truth was that the happiness of the new baby only made the wedding preparations more festive. It would be a small celebration, obviously, but planning for the cake and the decorations and what Frances would wear was more exciting than Jet had thought it would be. She'd missed Regina's wedding, she didn't know if she'd ever be getting married herself, so this was her chance to do things like talk about flower arrangements and menus. Regina and Jack and the girls were coming back home to see Frances and Ethan get married, and maybe then they could talk about moving the family down to North Carolina. It would be sad in a way to leave the big old house behind, but on the other hand, there was something thrilling about going someplace new, meeting people who had never even heard of Maria Owens, seeing the world out there beyond the little island.

Ethan was willing to offer opinions on the wedding preparations whenever asked for them, but being the easy-going sort of man he was, he didn't get involved in Jet and Frances's arguments and spent a lot of his time running errands for them in his truck. "Honestly," he confided to Jet, "Whatever Fran wants is fine by me, so long as I get to pick the music for our first dance." He smiled, a dreamy, contemplative look in his eyes. "I've got some ideas for that." 

Jet wondered if he had been thinking about that first dance while driving to the post office that day, the day when Frances heard the deathwatch beetle.

They'd been talking about whether to have a separate dessert for the wedding dinner or to just have more cake, when Frances had frozen. "Jet," she said in a voice that made Jet's blood run cold, "do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jet had been about to ask, when she heard it, too. The deathwatch beetle, singing somebody's death--soft but clear, coming from the yard.

Jet and Frances exchanged a terrified look. There hadn't been any omens over the past few days--they'd been paying special attention to the stars, to make sure everything was clear for the wedding. Nothing particularly telling had happened to any of them lately, no shadows hanging over anybody. Why was the beetle calling now?

"You think it's Mother?" Jet asked, ready to run upstairs and check on her.

"It's the goddamned fucking _curse_ ," spit Frances. "Where's Ethan?"

"He went to the post office to get envelopes," Jet said, but before the sentence was even finished, Frances had broken into a sprint, her long skirts whirling in the morning breeze as she ran down the road to town.

Jet ran upstairs to Mother. "Mother!" she said. "Did you hear the beetle? We have to do something!"

Mother blinked. "You can't do anything about death, Bridget," she said, sounding confused but clearer than usual. "It comes when it wants and takes who it wants."

It wanted Ethan.

Jet found out later, from Ethan's mother, that a dog had been crossing the road. Ethan had swerved to avoid it and ended up hitting a tree and going through the windshield. He'd died quickly, at least. A dog. To think that all their dreams could be shattered by something as little as that.

She'd expected sound and fury from Frances, but what she got was even more frightening: Frances sobbing so hard that Jet was afraid she'd hurt herself, unable to say much more than Ethan's name. Jet had never seen Fan break down like that, not even when they were little and someone had done something truly hurtful to her. Frances got angry, got snippy, acted like she didn't care, but she never just _collapsed_ in her grief. Jet was still dazed, unable to really understand what was happening. Fan's wedding dress was still hanging on a dressmaker's dummy in the attic; Jet would have to get rid of it, wouldn't she? And the bouquets they'd been arranging, to pick which ones they liked the best, and all the cake recipes. They didn't need any of it anymore. 

Frances's sobs eventually quieted, and she panted warm breaths into Jet's shoulder, her face still soaked with tears. Jet rocked her, making nonsense shushing noises, and almost didn't hear it when Frances said, "Fucking Maria."

Half-thinking that she was imagining things, Jet asked, "What?"

Frances sat up and wiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "Fucking Maria. She couldn't have her man, so she decided she had to take mine. Fuck her. The goddamn selfish--" She broke off and pressed her clenched fist to her mouth, breathing in deeply and closing her eyes. 

"Frances," said Jet, wiping her own tears from her eyes. "It was an accident."

"Accident my ass." She shook her head, her eyes narrowed. "I thought it would work, Jet. I really thought we had her beat. Fucking--" She punched the bed, blood rising to her cheeks in an angry flush. "It's not _fair_. Regina gets her husband and her two kids and her white picket fence, and Ethan--" Her voice broke on his name. "He was only twenty-five. It's not _fair._ "

"I know, Fanny, I know."

"You don't know shit, Jet," said Frances bitterly. "You're practically a goddamned nun. It's ironic, really. Jet Owens--a wizard at love potions, never in love herself."

"Frances," protested Jet, hurt.

"Oh, I'm not blaming you." Frances huffed out a sour laugh. "You're lucky. Love's terrible."

 _At least you found someone to love_ , Jet wanted to say. _Someone who loved you back. No woman is ever going to love me, and I'm going to live and die in this house alone._ She didn't say any of that, though. Instead, she said, "It can be, honey," and left to get Frances some tea before either of them could say something they'd regret.

 

**

February 7, 1968

Dear Jet,

I'm sorry to hear that Frances is still feeling so low. I asked her if she'd like to come stay with me and Jack and the girls for a while, but she hasn't sent a reply yet. She's always welcome, and you are, too. I bet Mother's feeling satisfied--another man who dared to love an Owens woman and interfere with the family business is out of her way.

Sally and Gilly are getting so big now. Gilly's got your hair, but she's not nearly so quiet as you and Sally--she's going to be a little spitfire! Sally's the smartest little thing you ever saw. I think she's reading already, though I guess it's hard to tell. I don't know if she's got power the way you and Frances have, and I don't know if I want her to. Sometimes it seems more like a burden than a gift.

Jack sends his love, and so do I.  
Your sister,  
Regina 

It was near the beginning of a mild March, following on the heels of a cold and wet winter, that a woman whom Jet didn't know knocked on her door.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," said the stranger. "Are you...Bridget Owens?"

Jet frowned. They didn't often get strangers on Maria's Island, and it was a lot rarer that strangers came to seek out an Owens. "Yes?"

The stranger smiled. She was a pretty black woman maybe a few years older than Jet, dressed in a fashionable-looking women's trouser suit with a beautiful lavender scarf. "Hello," she said. "I'm Rosemary Graves--Mrs. Watson's new assistant over at the library."

"Pleased to meet you," said Jet, taking Miss Graves's proffered hand for a shake. "Can I help you?"

Miss Graves's smile turned a little sheepish around the edges. "Well. I've been trying to get to know the island a little better since I moved here from Chicago. People say you're really good at things like, well, good luck charms and that sort of thing, and I thought--well, I'm new here, I can use all the luck I can get, right?"

"We all can," said Jet. She had to admit, magical help was about the last thing she expected this sophisticated-looking woman to ask for--were there many witches in Chicago who did this sort of thing? "So, would you like me to make a good luck charm for you?"

"If you're not too busy," said Miss Graves with a shrug. 

"Did you have any particular kind of charm in mind?" asked Jet. 

Miss Graves raised her eyebrows. "Oh--I hadn't thought about it. I didn't realize there were different kinds."

"Well," said Jet, "there are your more general kinds of good luck charms, there are ones for financial prosperity, luck in love, protection from various kinds of ailments...." She shut her mouth, feeling as if she were rambling.

"Goodness." Miss Graves looked a bit overwhelmed.

"I could just make--or if you'd like to come in, I could make a pot of tea and we could talk about the specifics." What in the world was the matter with her? She ought to have invited Miss Graves in as soon as it was clear that she was a customer, not stood around tripping over her tongue like an idiot.

Miss Graves's smile returned. "That would be lovely, thank you."

Miss Graves looked around with interest as they passed through the entryway and the dining room into the kitchen. 

"I hope you don't mind sitting in the kitchen," said Jet, grabbing a tin of tea out of the cupboard. "My mother and sister are sleeping upstairs. I'd rather not wake them up, and the sound doesn't carry so much from here."

"Not at all," said Miss Graves. "I don't want to impose. I didn't realize the rest of the family was asleep."

It had been a long time since Jet had felt awkward about the situation with Mother and Frances, but she felt an embarrassed blush burning her cheeks. "It's--my sister's fiancé recently died, and she's not...well, she's having a difficult time of it."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Miss Graves looked genuinely sympathetic. "That's awful."

Jet didn't know what to say, besides "Thank you," and she busied herself with the kettle. There were still cookies left from the last batch she'd baked, so she pulled some out to offer her guest. 

"Mm," said Miss Graves. "These are delicious. Did you buy them around here?"

"I made them."

"Oh, wow." Miss Graves took another bite, made a noise of pleasure that made Jet flush even more, and swallowed. She smiled at Jet and said, "They're amazing. I'm envious--I was never very good at baking, myself."

"Well. It isn't a terribly useful skill, since I don't really have anyone to bake for." The words sounded lonelier and more desperate out loud than they had in her head, and she cleared her throat. "So," she said, hoping she sounded at least a little more businesslike, "you wanted a good luck charm?"

They worked out the details and the payment over tea and cookies, and after the cookies were gone, Jet cut some apples and cheese and they ate those. By the time Miss Graves finally left, the sun had almost started to set. It wasn't all that late, but it got dark early this far north as the autumn pressed on. Jet wished Miss Graves could have stayed longer. It had been so long since she'd had a real conversation.

Two days later, the good luck charm was ready to go. Jet had taken special care with it, torn between the desire to finish quickly and see Miss Graves again and nerves about going into town by herself. The good luck charm was powerful enough to protect even Jet, she thought, and she walked over to the library.

The town library was small, and its main source of traffic, as far as Jet could tell, was school groups making field trips. It didn't come as much of a surprise to see Miss Graves sitting by herself at the reference desk, her chin in her hand as she leaned an elbow on the desk and read. Jet took a moment to collect herself and process the tableau of peaceful studiousness.

It didn't last long, though. After a moment, Miss Graves lifted her head from her book and smiled broadly at Jet. "Hey!" she said. "Is that my good luck charm?"

Jet handed it over, and Miss Graves paid, but Jet didn't want to leave yet, so she asked about Miss Graves's book. As it turned out, it was a book about books--that is, about Greek manuscripts in Italian libraries. Manuscripts were something of a specialty of Miss Graves's, she explained--she was interested in how books were transmitted from one country and age to another. For Jet's part, many of the books in the Owens library were handwritten, collections of spells and herb lore passed down from generation to generation, so to her surprise, she actually had something to contribute to the conversation. Eventually, a schoolboy wanted to check out a book, and Jet left, but she walked home with a feeling of exhilaration in her chest.

The next week, Miss Graves--Rosemary, as she asked Jet to call her--came by the house. She'd lost a favorite book, she explained, and wondered if Jet had a charm or a spell to find it. She did. The week after that, Jet went and checked out a book about gardens from the library. She never had to bring it back, because the following week, Rosemary came back to the house for a charm to keep mice out of her pantry, and took the library book back with her. The week after, as they were sitting in the kitchen, ostensibly talking about a potion for bringing good dreams Rosemary wanted but really talking about Rosemary's time at library school, Rosemary said, "You know, I have a confession to make."

Jet blinked, confused. "What do you mean? What kind of confession?"

Rosemary smiled a little, but her eyes were anxious. "I didn't come here for a good luck charm that first day, and honestly, I haven't been coming back for the spells."

Jet had figured that a college-educated woman from Chicago was probably less interested in potions from a small-town fortuneteller than in making a friend in her new home, but she didn't see why that would require a confession, or why Rosemary would be so nervous about it. "Then why come?"

"Well." Rosemary stared down into her fresh cup of tea, the steam rising up and dissipating around her face as she breathed it in. "The way the people in this town talk about you, and your mother and sister...I couldn't understand it. It seemed ridiculous. I thought maybe we outsiders could stick together. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you about not fitting in around here."

That was true, Jet thought. Rosemary was a black woman from a big city, here in this nowhere town full of WASPs who'd been living there since the 1600s, an insular bunch who didn't admit outsiders easily. She'd be set apart from the rest of the people in Maria's Island in a completely different way from Jet and her family. "I guess not," she said. 

"So, anyway, I came around here last month because I thought we might get along. And we do. But..."

"But what?" asked Jet, alarmed. She didn't want to lose the only bright spot in her week. Her conversations with Rosemary were about the only thing she had to look forward to these days.

Rosemary sighed. "Jet, you're really my only friend here. So will you promise not to be offended if I try something?"

"Well, of course," said Jet. "But what--"

She didn't get to finish the question, because Rosemary was kissing her on the lips.

Jet had never been kissed before, and she had no idea what to think or do. It must not have been very good for Rosemary, because she pulled back with a frightened expression on her face and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--"

"No!" Jet said, suddenly sure that something very important had just happened. "No, do it again. I can do it better this time, I promise."

Rosemary broke into an incredulous grin. "What?"

"Sorry, I'd just never kissed anyone before." Mustering up all her courage, she reached for Rosemary's hand and twined their fingers together. "I liked it, though. Let's try again."

So they did. And it went so well, that they did it again. And again, until they were both breathless and grinning at each other in the dim kitchen light. 

"I guess that good luck charm of yours worked for me after all," Rosemary said. Her face was inches from Jet's, and Jet could feel her warm breath on her face.

"I always try to give everyone their money's worth," Jet panted. They laughed and went back to kissing.

The weeks and months to come were a kind of happy blur for Jet. Sure, Frances still didn't get out of bed half of the time, and Mother's bad days were outnumbering her good ones by a long shot, but Jet thought she was finally understanding what it meant to love. She and Rosemary went to eat in all the tourist restaurants, not kissing or touching in public but exchanging smiles that held jokes and promises and little expressions of love. They traded books, and spent long hours in either Jet's kitchen or Rosemary's den talking about them, or about music, or about the library, or about magic. They kissed. Rosemary gave Jet old issues of The Ladder, and Jet caught a glimpse of a world in which women like her, women who loved other women, talked to each other about how they felt and what they did to fit in with the people around them and what they could do to make the world a better place. Suddenly, Jet felt a part of something bigger than the island. For the first time in her life, there was something in her world other than her mother or her sisters or her magic. Rosemary had brought a whole universe with her, a universe in which to her great surprise, Jet had a part. 

Jet also had a part to play in Rosemary's bed, which was the greatest surprise of all. She had never imagined what pleasure she could get from another woman's hands between her legs or on her breasts, or the wonders that Rosemary's mouth could provide. It was a kind of wonderful that Jet had never even known to want, to get to know Rosemary's body like her own, to become acquainted with the freckles on her shoulders and the scars on her knees from riding her bike as a child and the way her second toes were longer than her big toes. Jet had never really looked at a woman's body other than her own, and she loved everything about Rosemary's, and about Rosemary. She loved Rosemary's passion for books, and the way she sipped her coffee, and the way you could see the gears turning behind her eyes when she was thinking. Jet thought she might finally understand what Regina and Frances had found all those years ago, and why they had been so unwilling to give it up. 

Though she knew it all had to be a secret, that the people in this town would never accept the two of them as a couple, she had a hard time keeping her feelings to herself. Sometimes it seemed as if anyone walking down the street could see how she felt, like her happiness and love was just radiating from her pores, like she had a big sign over her head.

Even Frances, who hadn't been interested in much of anything but sleeping and listening to Ethan's records for months, noticed. "What's got you so cheerful, Bridget Owens?" she asked grumpily. "You look like the cat that's swallowed the canary."

"I don't know," said Jet, and then, because Frances wasn't stupid, she added, "I mean, Rosemary and I've been having a good time lately. It's nice having a friend."

"Rosemary?" Frances raised her eyebrows. "Is that who's been keeping me awake talking with you in the kitchen?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize we were disturbing you. We can talk somewhere else."

Frances shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me." She studied Jet's face closely before pronouncing, "You look good. This Rosemary must be a hell of a lot better than the chuckleheads we went to school with."

"She's great." She tried to keep a hold on her smile. "You should come out with us sometime."

"I don't know." Usually, Frances's grief showed more as anger or exhaustion, but today she just looked sad. "Maybe. Not today, though. I'm tired."

"It sounds like she's depressed," said Rosemary when Jet told her about it later. "I don't know, maybe we should try getting her out of the house more. I can't imagine that spending all her time by herself or with your mother is helping her much."

"I know." Jet felt guilty. She felt every day like she ought to be doing more, that both Mother and Frances were slipping away from her, but it never felt like anything she did helped, and it was so sometimes tempting to just stop thinking about it and let herself be a woman in love. "I've tried, and she's doing better, I think, but it's not as if she has a lot of friends in this town, so it's hard to motivate her to go places."

"I can imagine. There are places where being different's about the worst thing you can be. This seems to be one of them, and we're pretty different, baby." 

Jet nodded and grasped Rosemary's hand. "I'm so glad you're here, though. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Rosemary laughed. "I think you'd probably do all right in the apocalypse, Jet. With everything that's happened to your family, you'd have to be pretty strong to turn out the way you are." She sobered and said, "I do think we should try to get Frances out, though, and maybe your mom, too. It can't be healthy for them to be cooped up like that." 

Jet thought they probably had about as much chance of getting Mother out of the house as they had of winning the lottery, but Frances was another story. Jet's increasing absences seemed to be pushing Frances out of her room, to make food and take care of Mother, and Mother, in turn, seemed to be pushing Frances out of her funk and into her old, irascible self. 

"I swear to God, if she sits me down and explains the history of Great Aunt Amelia's love life and how that taught her that raising a child without men was the only way to parent _one more time_ , I'm going to hurl myself into the ocean," Frances told Jet one night after supper. "If this is what I have to look forward to in my old age, we'd better just end it now."

"Oh, don't talk like that, Frances," said Jet, torn between relief at Fan's temper and worry at this line of talk.

Frances rolled her eyes like Jet hadn't seen her do in a long time. "Relax, Jet. If you think I'm killing myself over a man, you've got another think coming. I wouldn't give Maria the satisfaction."

"I really don't think Maria had anything to do with it."

"Okay, fate, then." Frances snorted. "Even you can't deny fate has it in for us."

The biggest push to get Frances out of the house, though, came from an entirely unexpected source. In June, they got a letter from, if the writers were to be believed, a coven of witches. They were associated with some group with a comedically long name, and apparently they'd gotten Fan and Jet's names from a former customer, one of the few tourists who came their way. They were "excited to get to know" the Owenses, and they wanted to invite them to "share in the celebration of the Goddess and the Old Ways." On a more practical note, they were planning an East Coast get-together for the Autumn Equinox and wanted to know if Fan and Jet wanted to be on the organizing committees.

Frances squinted at the letter. "Is this a hippy thing?"

"Beats me," said Jet. "It seems nice, though, don't you think? We could trade spells and things--I've been dying for some new ideas for good-dream potions."

"Well, they'll probably be full of shit," Frances said. "But if they don't have anyone there who's got a clue what they'll doing, God only knows what they'll end up getting into." She sighed. "What the hell. Let's do it."

As it turned out, Frances could be an aggressive and enthusiastic correspondent. While Jet walked by the sea shore with Rosemary, Frances wrote letters, and by the end of the summer, she had a mailing list of witches, Wiccans, and Pagans (conveniently labeled "Crackpot," "Hippy," and "OK" in her box of file cards). She was still given to fits of melancholy or anger, but she was also getting a little stir-crazy. She was ready to get out of the house, and she was ready to meet Rosemary.

To Jet's joy, they got along immediately.

"Librarian, huh? Let me tell you, I'm just glad to hear that someone else in this damn town knows how to read. After Chicago, this podunk Gilligan's Island must be a hell of a bore."

"Oh, I don't know," said Rosemary, smiling at Jet in a way that made Jet flush. "I've met some interesting people here."

"Oh, really?" Frances said, oblivious. "Introduce them to me, will you? I've lived in this town twenty-five years and I've never met many."

They were sitting at the marina, eating fish and chips and people-watching. Jet, who'd been the main provider of good luck charms, love potions, and anti-mildew spells for the last few years, was well familiar with all these customers who wouldn't meet her eyes in the light of day, and she liked making Frances and Rosemary laugh by telling them about the little foibles the people of Maria's Island hid from the rest of the world.

It was fun--the first time Jet had seen Frances really having fun for a long time. 

They walked Rosemary home and then continued homeward in companionable silence. When they got into the house, Frances turned to Jet and said, "I understand it, now."

"What's that?" asked Jet absently, hanging up the light shawl she liked to wear with her summer dresses.

"Why you were never interested in any of the men around here." Frances gave her a wry smile. "Clever. You don't have to deal with men, and I think you may have figured out a dodge on old Maria's curse."

"Frances, I--" Jet couldn't think of anything to say.

Frances made a rude noise. "Don't get your panties in a bundle. She's good for you--anything that gets you out of the damn house." She paused and added, "I know I haven't been much fun lately, but...I love you, Jet, and if this Rosemary makes you happy, then, well, that makes me happy."

Jet hugged Frances as hard as she could.

"Oh, good grief, Jetty," said Frances into her shoulder. "I hope you don't grab Rosemary like this--you'll squeeze all the air out of her."

 

**

March 31, 1971

Dear Jet,

I'm so glad to hear that everything's going well. I'd go around telling everyone that my little sister makes the best sleeping potions on the East Coast, but whenever I say it, people look at me funny! Careful about the belladonna, though--you don't want to accidentally make anyone sick. Heaven knows we Owenses have a bad enough name in that town.

I asked around, and if your friend Rosemary's interested in moving to North Carolina, there's a job at one of the university libraries in Chapel Hill. What did you say her specialty was? I can't remember. At any rate, I'm sure she'll find a new job soon. From what you say, she sounds like a top-notch librarian--much too good for Maria's Island!

All my love,  
Your sister,  
Regina

The day that everything fell apart started innocently enough. Jet spent the day putting together a protection spell for Mr. Barnes, who was certain that neighborhood children were the ones knocking over his mailbox. If he was right, those children would have to work pretty hard to get past Jet's protection spell. Satisfied with her day's work, she went over to Rosemary's house after Rosemary got home from her library job and they ate dinner together.

Rosemary had cooked, so Jet started clearing the dishes to wash them while Rosemary got out to get the mail. Jet could hear the door opening and closing as she went outside, opening and closing again as she came back in, her footsteps as she walked toward the kitchen. And then the footsteps stopped cold.

"I got it." Her voice was unbelieving, like a joke was being played on her. And then she said again, louder, "Jet, I got it!"

"Got what, dear?" asked Jet, still busy clearing the table.

"The Countee Cullen Library job, in New York!" She came in and smacked an envelope down on the table, and Jet picked it up, skimming quickly through we were very impressed with your application and your qualifications are just what we are looking for down to we are pleased to offer you the position starting in May.

"Oh," she said. She didn't know what else to say. She'd known that Rosemary was applying for jobs, ones with higher pay and more interesting locations than Maria's Island, and that sooner or later she would probably get one, but somehow she hadn't expected it to come so soon or thought about what it would mean.

"Is that all you have to say?" Rosemary was almost giddy with joy, and Jet felt the ground shifting beneath her feet. "This is...this is it, for me. My dream job." She grinned. "I guess those good luck charms you made for me worked after all!"

"I'm so happy for you." Jet managed a smile, feeling lost but immensely proud of Rosemary, who was too smart, too dedicated to be stuck in the Maria's Island library for too long. "Congratulations."

"Hey," said Rosemary, sobering somewhat and gripping Jet by the shoulders, "Hey, baby, this is good for us, too. You can finally get the hell out of this town, see a little bit of the world. More than that--I think New York counts as more than a little bit. All the colleges there, all the art, the theater--this could be so good for us, Jet. Away from all the small-minded little pinheads here, out in the world."

"Rose, I can't--I can't just leave. My mother--"

"You don't think Frances could take care of her? God knows you took care of Frances for long enough--isn't it her turn to take some of the work?" Jet didn't think of it like that, didn't think of the things she did for her sister as something that needed to be paid back and didn't like the idea, and some of that must have shown on her face, because Rosemary sighed. "Okay. Okay, then, Frances and Julia can come with us. You could sell the house here, we could get a bigger place in New York. We can make it work."

New York. It would be amazing--like her dreams of living in North Carolina with Regina and Jack, only a thousand times better, because instead of being the fifth wheel in somebody else's marriage, this time _she'd_ be the one living with the one she loved. 

"Let me--" Jet got out. "Let me talk it over with Mother and Frances, okay?"

The talk didn't go well.

Frances, though a bit dubious, was willing to pack it all in and go to New York--as she said, it wasn't as if she had a lot keeping her on Maria's Island, now that Ethan was gone. But the idea of leaving the house where she'd lived her whole life clearly terrified Mother, and she had a shrieking fit like she hadn't in some time. "Good thing we don't have neighbors," Frances said over the din. "We'd be getting the cops called on us right about now!"

Two hours, three cups of tea, and some of Jet's belladonna sleeping potion later, Mother and Frances were both in bed and Jet was sitting alone on the front porch, teetering between exhilaration and agony.

She could leave. She had a chance right now--a place to go to and someone who loved her to go with her. Frances really was better, now, and she could take care of Mother. And New York really wasn't so very far away--closer than North Carolina, anyway. She could go back and visit. 

New York City, though. It was huge. Jet had never lived anywhere but Maria's Island, where everyone knew everyone else, where her family had lived for over three hundred years. And what would Jet do there? She could go to college, maybe, but where would she get the money if Frances and Mother stayed in the house in Massachusetts? How many people in New York would really want magic spells? Jet didn't really have many other marketable skills that she could think of--she was an all right cook, but not good enough to do it professionally, she was okay at keeping the books for her family, but she wasn't sure she knew enough to do it on a larger scale, and her family had been making their own clothes since Jet was a little girl, but the dresses they made weren't exactly fashionable. 

But Rosemary would be there. Rosemary, who'd introduced Jet to ideas she'd never heard or thought of, who made Jet feel alive and _real_ , who loved her. Whom Jet loved. They'd been together for longer now than Regina and Jack had been when they eloped, or than Frances and Ethan had been when Ethan died. And even if they could never get married, New York was the kind of place where they could live and love more openly. There were communities of lesbians in New York, and Rosemary already knew people through the group she'd been a part of in Chicago. They could have friends, like a normal couple.

But what could Jet contribute to their life together? She could cook and clean, maybe, while Rosemary worked at the library, but how could that be enough? She didn't know if they'd be able to have a garden there, so how could she grow herbs? There probably wouldn't be room for a workroom, and Jet would have to leave most of her magic books behind--Rosemary loved books, and wouldn't object to her bringing them, but she couldn't leave Frances without the things she'd need to make a living. If she even could make a living doing magic in Maria's Island by herself--Jet had been carrying the bulk of it for so long, it might be hard for Frances to take care of Mother and support herself on her own.

She stayed awake all night without coming to a conclusion, and by the morning she was sick to her stomach. She went over to Rosemary's first thing.

Rosemary flung open the door with a wide smile, but the smile faded as soon as she got a look at Jet's face. "You're not coming with me, are you?"

Jet hadn't known it herself until Rosemary said it. "I can't."

"You _can_ , Jet," said Rosemary, but she sounded more resigned than persuasive. She sighed. "I can't make you come with me, but...God, you deserve so much better than the life you have right now. You just won't take it."

There were still six weeks before Rosemary's job started, but neither Jet nor Rosemary could enjoy them, knowing that they meant the end of what they had been for the last two years. Things were stiff and awkward between them, where before they had been as natural as anything. Even the sex was hesitant, strangely polite and distant. Jet was sure she'd been more miserable in her life, but she wasn't sure she'd ever been so miserable in such a drawn-out way, or ever blamed herself so much.

On the day Rosemary sent the final moving trucks on their way, Jet drove her to the train station. They sat in silence in the parking lot when they arrived, Jet tapping her fingers on the dashboard of the Owens's beat-up old Ford while Rosemary picked at the skin around her fingernails. "This doesn't have to be the end," said Rosemary finally. "I can still write. Hell, you could get a working telephone and I could call."

"I hope you do write," said Jet. "But don't...." She shrugged. "Don't feel like you have to wait for me. New York's a big city, and I know there are lots of interesting women there. Don't worry about me. You'll probably forget me before too long."

Rosemary's expression was half anger, half bewildered pity. "Jet Owens, either you don't think very highly of me, or you don't think very highly of yourself." She grabbed Jet's chin and kissed her, hard. Pulling away slightly, her deep brown eyes staring straight into Jet's, she said, "Whatever happens, let's get one thing straight. I am never going to forget you."

But she did, Jet thought later. They did exchange a few letters, and there was even talk of Jet coming up to visit, but then Mother caught pneumonia and had to go to the hospital, and by the time she was well enough to come home again, the letters had stopped. Maybe it was for the best, Jet thought. A clean break might ultimately hurt less. And it wasn't as if Rosemary had died. She was alive and thriving in the big city, unlike poor Ethan, so it was stupid to grieve. Selfish. She tried to devote herself to being happy for Rosemary, when she wasn't busy taking care of Mother.

Mother was as weak as a kitten, but being at home made her calmer than she'd been at the hospital, and though she didn't often recognize Jet or Frances, at least she seemed to like whoever she thought they were most of the time. Her last months were peaceful, for which Jet was grateful. Mother had had such fire in her life, strong opinions and passions, but they'd taken a toll on her. She deserved rest.

It didn't hurt as much as she'd expected when Mother finally died. The Mother that Jet had known before her decline had been long gone, Jet and Frances long resigned to her loss, and the Mother they had known since had only been happy when she was remembering the past, and then only sometimes. Everyone died, and if Mother hadn't been especially old, she hadn't been especially young, either. She'd had a good run of it, as far as Owens women went--unlike Frances and Great Aunt Amelia, she'd never had her heart broken by a man, having never given it to one. Maria's curse had passed over at least one victim.

It did hurt a bit that Regina didn't come to the funeral, though of course it was lovely to see Jack and the girls again.

A few weeks after the funeral, Frances turned to Jet and said, "You could go to New York now, couldn't you? Look up Rosemary?"

The idea had occurred to Jet, too, but it had been months since Rosemary's last letter. To show up out of the blue now--how would Rosemary react? For all Jet knew, she'd moved on, as Jet had done her best to do, and the last thing she wanted was to tear open old wounds. God, what if Rosemary had another girlfriend? After years of being the sensible one, Jet would probably do something horribly overdramatic if she braved the streets of New York only to find that Rosemary didn't want her anymore, and that there was no place for Bridget Owens in the modern, magic-less universe of taxis and skyscrapers and lesbian consciousness-raising groups. "It's too late for that, Fanny," she said. "I made my decision, and it's fine. I don't think I'd have fit in very well in the big city, anyway."

Frances sighed in exasperation. "You drive me nuts. Weren't you the one who was going to go to college, be a chemist or some such thing, go out and see the world?"

Jet shrugged. "There's a world here, too."

**

June 1, 1975

Dear Jet,

Maybe I'll have to come up for this Summer Solstice celebration--this coven of yours sounds like a hoot. I haven't been practicing much down here, but I'd dust off the old hat and broom for a naked bonfire dance! Whether I can or can't make it, take some pictures for me!

Life is good down here. The girls are out of school for the summer, and Jack and I are thinking of taking a family vacation down to the beach. Gilly's such a little adventurer, she and Jack love swimming out into the water and dunking each other, saltwater be damned! Sally and I are perfectly happy to stay dry and build sandcastles. We love it down by the shore, especially in the summer, when Jack can get a few days off work and we can all be together. 

Sometimes I think it can't possibly be real--me, sitting on a beach towel in the sun, with my husband and daughters laughing around me? Me, Regina Owens? Can't be. Must be a dream. But I haven't woken up so far!

All my love,  
Your sister,  
Regina

She knew the minute Jack died, or at least the minute that Regina realized it. It was like an earthquake, like the house falling down around her ears, but it wasn't her feeling it all, it was Reggie. She could tell that Frances knew, too.

"Oh, God," said Frances, for once devoid of any anger or sarcasm. "Regina. The girls."

Though it had been a while since either of them had driven, they jumped into their car and drove without stopping for sleep until they got to Reggie's house. They'd known it would be bad; they hadn't known that they'd be met at the door by a crying Sally and Gilly, with uncombed hair and rumpled clothes. They couldn't get their mother out of bed, they said; she wouldn't answer them or say anything at all, wouldn't drive them to school, wouldn't move, and they didn't know who to call. They'd been living on nothing but cereal and bologna sandwiches, they hadn't been to school in two days, their father was dead, killed by an untimely heart attack, and their world was falling down around their ears.

First things first: Frances and Jet got them to stop crying long enough to get some food into their bellies. The girls liked Frances, who could make them laugh by saying outrageous things, so Jet took it upon herself to go and kick Reggie into gear.

Like the girls and the house, Regina looked even worse than Jet had expected. The bed was a mountain of crumpled covers, stinking of sweat. Inside, Reggie was as pale as death, with red-rimmed eyes and mussed hair. Tears sprung to Jet's eyes. Reggie was her big sister, who'd held her in her lap and comforted her when she was a child and Mother had shouted at her, who'd been loved by half the boys in town for her smile and her confidence, who'd always told Jet she could be anything she wanted to be. Seeing her like this was terrible. "Reggie," she said, and her voice cracked.

"Jet," said Reggie weakly. "He's dead. Jack's dead." And then she reached for Jet, her face crumpling and tears starting to run over her already salt-streaked cheeks. 

"I know, honey, I know," said Jet, falling into her sister's arms and holding her as Reggie sobbed. She had nothing to say, but she made comforting noises and ran her fingers through Reggie's hair until the sobs quieted and Reggie fell into an exhausted sleep. 

The sleep didn't help, though. The next day Reggie was the same--she wouldn't get out of bed for anything, and she couldn't stop crying. Jet and Frances decided to keep Gilly and Sally out of Regina's room, since it was frightening them to see their mother like that. The next day was no better, nor was the next. Regina's room stank, and she wouldn't eat, or even drink anything besides water.

"Regina," said Frances impatiently on the fourth day, "what the hell are you doing? You've got two little girls who could use their mother right about now."

"I know, I know," Regina sobbed. "But it hurts. I don't even understand how I'm alive, it hurts so much."

"Reggie," said Jet, trying her best to be gentle, "maybe you'd feel a little better after a nice hot bath, and maybe some soup?"

"No." Regina shook her head. "No. It's not ever going to get better, thanks to Maria and her damn curse!" Her voice rose at the end, the first spark of spirit she'd shown since Jack had died, and she threw her glass of water at the wall. Frances and Jet instinctively ducked; the glass was heavy and thick and didn't shatter, but fell to the floor with a chunk taken out of its rim.

Frances stood, her lips drawn together in a tight line. "That's just about enough of that. You're not the only one who's lost someone, you know? Your daughters lost their father, too."

But Reggie wasn't listening anymore. She'd fallen back on the bed, no longer even sobbing, just lying there, staring at the ceiling and wailing softly. 

After that, Frances more or less refused to deal with Regina, so she kept looking after the girls while Jet tried to coax Reggie into sipping some broth or combing her hair. Jet couldn't help but be a bit irritated with Frances; didn't it just figure that Frances would take the girls, who were sad and frightened but who could be coaxed into obeying and even the occasional smile, sticking Jet with the hard part?

Jet kept a tight grip on her temper and a patient smile on her face, but it was hard. She wasn't physically strong enough to make Reggie do anything she didn't want to do, and Reggie didn't want to do anything. She was losing weight rapidly from refusing to eat, and even the mention of Sally and Gillian didn't seem to be able to rouse her from her spiral of grief anymore. 

Jet was starting to think it was only a matter of time before Regina died, too.

"Figures," grumbled Frances when Jet told her this. "Reggie always was good at running away." Jet didn't have the heart to chide her.

The next morning, when Regina once again threw a bowl of broth at Jet, something in her snapped. "I know you loved Jack," she said tartly, "but that doesn't give you permission to treat the rest of us like this. Now pick up the bowl."

Regina laughed. It wasn't a nice sound. "Jet, what the hell do you know about love? You've never loved anyone in your life--you've never been brave enough."

And that hurt Jet to the quick, hitting closer to home than anything Regina had said since Jack died. "You don't know anything about it!" she said. "You don't know! What kind of love did you show Mother? Or Frances--you didn't even come up from North Carolina when Ethan died. What kind of love are you showing your daughters?"

"You don't understand," said Regina, closing her eyes. "You don't understand."

Maybe she didn't. She didn't want to. Maybe she should have been braver. Maybe she should have gone with Rosemary, or gone to New York to seek her out after Mother had died. Maybe she would have been happier then. But she knew she wouldn't be happy being like Regina--like a puppet with her cords cut in Jack's absence. "What you're doing now isn't love," said Jet in a low voice, so angry she could feel her hands trembling. "It's selfishness." But Regina wasn't listening.

Two days later, Regina died.

Jet and Frances spent the next few days in a whirl, arranging funerals, contacting Jack's parents, talking to local officials about what was to be done about the girls. Jack's parents, who had cut him off after he married Regina, wanted no part of Sally or Gillian. It didn't matter. Jet didn't trust them with her nieces, anyway. A neighbor took them in for a few days while Jet and Frances went home to fix up the house. They cleaned out Mother and Reggie's old rooms, dug out some of Grandmother Elizabeth's more child-friendly furniture out of the attic, and tried to turn the house from a dusty old museum for spinsters to the kind of home two little girls would want to live in.

"Well," said Jet finally, "it's not perfect, but I think we can give them a pretty normal life, don't you?"

"Normal?" Frances snorted. "Who wants normal?"

"You know what I mean, Fan. We can...we can be their family."

"Well, we're not going to be their parents, Jetty. But if you don't already know, I feel obliged to tell you that we _are_ their family. No 'can' about it."

She was right, Jet reflected. For better or worse, they were Owens women, and they'd been enough family for each other for over three hundred years. They'd make do. And whatever else, Sally and Gillian would always be loved. It wasn't everything, but maybe it would be enough.

 

_Epilogue_

_May 24th, 1999_

"Aunt Jet," asked Kylie, "When you and Grandma Regina and Aunt Frances were my age, did you go to the formal at school?"

"I don't think I went to a single dance the whole time I was in school," Jet said, pouring Kylie and Antonia each another glass of lemonade.

"Not even the _prom_?" Antonia asked incredulously.

"Not even the prom. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't go, Kylie." Jet settled herself down on the porch swing and sipped her own lemonade. Perfect on a hot afternoon in late May. "I think it sounds like fun."

Kylie wrinkled her nose. "It'll probably be lame," she said. "But I don't know. Jennifer and Amy and Madison from my math class are going, and we were thinking maybe we'd go as, like, a group."

"You're not going to ask a boy?" Gilly pushed through the screen door, holding a plate of cookies, with Sally and Gary on her heels.

"She's only twelve," Sally objected. "What's the rush?"

Gillian shrugged. "Just a question." She settled herself down on the porch swing next to Jet, settling the cookies on her lap. "Antonia," she said. "Why don't you go get the mail?" She and Sally exchanged significant looks as Antonia skipped down to the mailbox. 

"Oh, Lord," said Gary. "Please tell me you're not sending magical potions through the U.S. Postal Service."

Sally cuffed him on the shoulder. "No! Nothing like that--it's that _letter_ we were expecting."

"Oh," Gary said significantly. " _That_ letter."

Jet didn't know what any of them were talking about. It was too beautiful a day to get worked up about anything, but she was a little curious--Gilly and Sally were capable of quite a bit of mischief when they put their minds to it. "What are you up to?"

"Well," said Gilly. "We were looking at old pictures the other day with Aunt Frances, and we saw somebody we didn't recognize."

"Lady named Rosemary?" Gary put in.

Jet blinked. "Fanny told you about Rosemary?" She and Ethan had come up only rarely when the girls were growing up, and Jet wasn't sure she'd ever really talked about the true nature of her and Rosemary's relationship with Sally and Gilly.

"Well, Jetty, face it, she _was_ the one that got away." Frances pushed her way onto the front porch just as Antonia came barreling back up the sidewalk."Those women you dated from the coven didn't even compare. What's her face, Zinnia?" She shuddered exaggeratedly.

"Zinnia's a perfectly nice woman," said Jet stoutly, though it was true that she was a little...New Age-y.

"It _came_ , it _came_!" Antonia sang. "All the way from _New York_!"

"Antonia!" Gilly grabbed the envelope from Antonia's hands. "If you would all just let me finish! Anyway, Aunt Jet, Aunt Frances told us about you and Rosemary. And _since_ Sally here seems to be the expert at long-distance love spells, and _since_ we all seem to have our personal lives worked out for the moment--"

"Oh, no," said Jet. "Tell me you didn't put a spell on Rosemary."

"Only to find her," Sally said in reassuring tones. "We wanted to make sure our letter got to her."

"Your letter? Girls...." Jet was at a loss. Her time with Rosemary had been so long ago, it felt like another life. It seemed utterly bizarre to be talking about it here and now, surrounded by nieces and grandnieces. 

Gilly grinned and said, "God knows you've meddled enough in our love lives. We thought we'd return the favor." She pushed the letter at Jet. "Go on! Read it!"

Almost against her will, Jet's hand reached for the letter and ran one finger over the familiar handwriting. With hands that couldn't quite stop shaking, she opened it up.

Dear Jet, it read,

I'm sure it must be very strange to hear from me after all this time, but then, I was surprised to hear from Gillian and Sally. I think in the last picture I saw of them, they were still wearing diapers! I hope you're doing well, and that you've had a happy and fulfilling life. I know from Gillian and Sally's letter that you've done a wonderful job raising them--you should be very proud. I don't know if you'd be at all interested in getting in touch, but I'm attending a library conference in Boston in July, and I would love to catch up. 

If you don't want to talk to me, I completely understand, but if you do, my return address is on the envelope, and my phone number is 212-555-1176.

Best wishes,  
Rosemary Graves

P.S.  
I never forgot you. 

Jet folded the letter very carefully. 

"Well?" asked Gillian anxiously. "What did she say?"

"Are you okay, Aunt Jet?" Antonia flung her arms around Jet's neck. "You're crying!"

"I'm fine, Antonia." Jet wiped at her eyes, feeling silly. "I'm just happy. I haven't heard from Rosemary in, goodness, more than twenty years. If you'll excuse me," she said, standing up and setting her lemonade on the low table in front of the porch swing, "I'm just going to go inside and write her a letter."

"I'll say this for you Owens ladies," she heard Gary say as the door closed behind her. "You do your part to keep the art of letter-writing alive."

Jet smiled as she went to her room, and she was still smiling, though her eyes were somewhat damp, when she sat down to write.

Dear Rosemary.... 


End file.
